The Go-To Girlfriend for New Mommies
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A few weeks ago Maddie was introduced to
“Wild Kratts”, a new television show on PBS, through
recess play time. She begged so enthusiastically for me to record
it that I did, though I had no idea what it was about.
Fast forward a few weeks, and it’s now the girls’
favorite show.
I’m teaching a new class this
semester at my theatre school – improv for teenagers - and
they’ve got their first show coming up tomorrow. To entice
their friends to come see it (and thus hugely boost the laughter in
the audience) I promised my students that I’d offer free
candy and cokes at the show.
Of course, when I say “free”, I mean out of my own
pocket. They all thought this was a terrific idea, and gave me
their list of “fave” candies that I “HAD
TO” make sure I have there. Armed with my list, I hit my
local grocery store last night.
And let me say, as I walked into the store I felt as if I needed
dark glasses and a disguise wig.
On March 21, the American Academy of
Pediatricians released a statement issuing new recommendations for
car-seat use for babies and children. The biggest change? They now
recommend rear-facing car seats until children are AT LEAST TWO
years old. Yep, TWO, not one.
Read up on it on
target="_blank">this link; there’s also a great
target="_blank">video from the
lady (a pediatrician and certified child passenger safety
instructor) that shows multiple crash tests done with child-sized
dummies in varying positions. And parents of school-age children,
you don't get off scott-free either; they recommend booster seats
until the child is somewhere between EIGHT and TWELVE years old.
Yep.
Let’s just say that I’m glad my youngest is four, and I
don’t have to persuade her to turn back around.
As part of our Staycation last week, the
family went to a nearby wildlife preserve where you can ride an
open bus through the land – a sort of mini-safari, if you
will. We’d gotten on the bus and were sitting waiting for the
tour to start when I noticed that there was something on my wrist
– it felt like a gnat or something, right under the sleeve of
my jeans jacket. I absentmindedly brushed it, and then felt an
intense pain.
Which was the moment I realized it was a bee.
We spent a glorious week last week tasting
a tiny preview of what summer will be like – sleeping in,
being lazy all day, doing fun stuff. Add in several hours at the
pool and you’ve just described our typical day in June. And
July. And August.
Alas, though, all good things come to an end: specifically,
sleeping in.
Yep, this morning when I walk upstairs in a few minutes and rouse
my five-year-old, it will hurt. It will not be pretty. It will
downright stink.
Did I mention it will hurt?
Yeah, I'm still here. Just enjoying being
lazy and hanging with the girls. We're doing some serious spring
cleaning and serious funning around. So busy.
Maddie’s reading has been steadily
improving, and now she can read passing street signs, billboards,
and magazines lying around. As we lie in bed at night reading
chapter books, she follows along. And though she can’t quite
keep up with me as I read, she’s getting pretty darn close.
I love seeing her get hooked on reading. She’s always loved
books, but reading by herself has just become easy enough –
though not easy – that she is tantalized by everything she
sees. Those words jump up at her, begging to be read, and
it’s worth the work and agony of having to sound out the hard
words.
At night now if she’s not sleepy she’ll turn her light
on and read two books by herself. And yes, she has done that for a
while now – flipping through books she knows – but now
she can actually read them herself. And she loves it.
It makes me so happy.
Our local arboretum is doing its annual
spring flower show, and this year the theme is Fairy Tales. To that
end, they’ve hired several designers to bring different fairy
tale castles to life, and the results – magic play houses to
climb on – are on display now.
Saturday morning I took the girls to the arboretum to celebrate our
spring break. And since the theme is fairy tales, I let them dress
like princesses. So I had a Rapunzel and an Ariel in the car, and
the girls were beyond thrilled. I am the annoying mom who never
lets their kids run around in costume outside of the house –
not because I’m embarrassed that my kids dress up, but
because I spent my whole life in the theatre having it pounded into
me: “Do NOT eat in costume! Do NOT get them dirty!” So
the fact that Mommy let the girls out in costume was a huge
deal.
Yes, down here in the hot South,
it’s spring break already! And we are going to sunny –
Um, here.
We are having yet another family Staycation, which I have
successfully hyped and spun until it could easily run for public
office. My kids now thing Staycations are just as cool as traveling
vacations, mostly because we 1) eat Fruit Loops (well,
fruit-juice-flavored Cheerios. I have my limits.) and because we 2)
watch movies. Or at least one movie.
I’ve drawn up a big poster of our Staycation day-by-day.
Maddie wrote in the name of each day, and Cora stuck the Velcro
pieces on each day. What is the Velcro for, you ask? Why,
it’s for the big star we drew, colored, cut out, and
laminated. Each day one of the girls is the Calendar Girl, and
moves the Staycation Star to the next day.
You gotta make your own fun, people.
My Cora is, shall we say, loquacious. The
child can talk. In a very stream-of-consciousness,
I-have-so-much-to-say-and-you’ll-find-it-all-fascinating kind
of way. Here’s a recent example:
“Mommy, don’tcha know that today at open gym we heard
this great song? It went ‘Menomenan, doo doo da doodoo,
Menomenan doo doo da doo’ and that’s so interesting
because we have that same song on our pink iPod! So I have that
song to listen to in two places – open gym, and my iPod!
Isn’t that so cool? Oh, look, my underpants are going up my
hiney. Hey, there, underpanties, get out of my hiney! Look, Mommy,
look, they’re going up my hiney. Speaking of hineys, did you
know the basilik lizard lays eggs out of her hiney RIGHT ONTO THE
WATER? And she can RUN on water, up to five miles an hour!
Isn’t that so interesting? Oh, look a tic-tac on the floor
– it’s probably still good so I’ll eat it.
Don’t you think I should? Don’t you think it would be
wasteful not to eat it? Don’tcha know tic-tacs make your
mouth feel better?”
And so on.
These are all things that have come out of my daughter’s
mouth. In one conversation.
What do I do about this? Because I have to admit that as annoying
as I’m sure it will be soon, it’s darn cute right now.
Don’tcha know.
Maddie and I were walking home from school
when she pulled out a silly band from her backpack. These stupid
elastic wristbands are banned from her school – thankfully
– so I could understand it being in the backpack, but it was
one I’d never seen before. “Where’d you get the
silly band?” I asked Maddie.
“From Joe,” she replied.
Of course. Joe. The boyfriend.
And then the bombshell –
“But I don’t think he likes me any more.”
I'm sick with a doozy of a spring cold,
and when I feel this way I invariably find myself thinking one
single, awfule thought:
I wish my kids were sick instead of me.
This sounds really really bad, I know. But if I have to choose one
of us to get sick, I'd rather it be the kids so I can take better
care of them. The girls need Mommy whether she's feeling great or
feeling stink-o, and dragging through the day gritting my teeth
trying to not lose patience is just no fun.
Of course, I will probably see my wish fulfilled - sort of. Because
Cora was complaining of a "lump in my throat" all yesterday, and my
cold drainage has given me a terrible sore throat. So I'll
probably have a sick, cranky Cora when she wakes up.
Laissez les bon temps rouler.
The weather’s turned nicer here
– well, darn near perfect, if I’m being honest. A bit
chilly in the mornings, then hanging around in the 70s the rest of
the day, balmy and sunny and lightly breezy.
Sorry, New York.
Last night, I was taking a shower with the
girls when Maddie said, "Hey, Mommy, your tummy looks like it has a
baby in it!"
Now, I know that I am not the world's largest person. Most people
- and I say "most" because somewhere out there are a couple old
ballet directors who would call me a "fat cow" because they did
before when I was skinnier - would not call me overweight. I also
realize that it was right after dinner, and there was a
cheeseburger and apple in there helping with the gestatory
illusion.
But still.
I'm going to complain to my friends Ben and Jerry. They understand
me.
I posted yesterday about my seeking out
fairy-tale-like alternatives to the Disney princesses. I want to
give the girls better role models (sorry, Ariel and Snow White) and
perhaps a smidge of self-esteem in the process.
Then, coincidentally, a friend of mine sent me a link to a blog
post yesterday from Christianity Today entitled href="http://blog.christianitytoday.com/women/2011/03/toddlers_tiaras_and_surviving.html">
“Toddler, Tiaras, and Surviving the Princess
Mania”. The blog is a review of Peggy
Orenstein’s newest book, href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/redirect.html?ie=UTF8&location=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2FCinderella-Ate-Daughter-Dispatches-Girlie-Girl%2Fdp%2F0061711527%3Fie%3DUTF8%26s%3Dbooks%26qid%3D1299035267%26sr%3D1-1&tag=1mother2anoth-20&linkCode=ur2&camp=1789&creative=9325">
Cinderella Ate My Daughter: Dispatch From the Front Lines of
the New Girlie-Girl Culture. Based on the review,
I’m heading out to get that book.
I’m relieved to know it’s not just me.
But read the review – while not exhaustive on the topic,
it’s got some good points on the subject. And keep sending me
alterna-princess book ideas.
I fought mightily to keep the dreaded
Disney princesses from invading our homes, and they still made it
in. It’s really impossible to keep them out –
they’re on toothbrushes and valentines and pencils and even
macaroni and cheese. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.
I have two problems with Ariel and her friends. First off, I am
peeved about the whole licensed character thing. I can’t
stand how ubiquitous their faces are, and how my daughters
automatically beg me to buy gum/toilet paper/cheetos just because
they have Belle and Aurora on them.
But my biggest issue is the type of role model these gals are
being. Maddie and Cora hear the stories too often –
“Someday my prince will come” is a too-often refrain,
and the heroine can do nothing but clean the house after seven
messy guys/wander through the woods picking berries, hidden away
from all other people/prepare her mean sisters’ breakfasts
and daydream about being rescued. Yes, this is a problem for
me.
Our local high school is currently
building a brand-new arts building, with a state-of-the-art theatre
as its crown jewel. They’ve been working since September and,
though it’ll be a couple years before it’s finished, we
point it out to the girls when we drive past.
Yesterday Brian did so on our way to church – “Look,
girls, there’s the new arts building going up! It’s
going to have a fantastic theatre in it by the time you two get to
go to school there!”
And from the back seat, Cora said matter-of-factly, “Yes, and
people will come from far and wide, from all across the land, to
see me upon that stage. I will be astonishingly good.”
Seriously, folks. I can’t make this up.
Remember Maddie and her in-class Romeo,
“Joe”? Well, the relationship’s only heating up.
Joe was gone over Valentine’s week, apparently at
Disneyworld. But his first act upon returning this week was to give
Maddie a valentine. A girly one, no less, because he “knew
she wouldn’t want a boy one”.
He knows my kid, I have to give him that.
When Maddie was barely a year old, she met
Naomi on a playground and the rest was history. The girls were
inseparable, playing together EVERY DAY until we moved when Maddie
was two and a half. This sounds small, I know, but three years
later Naomi still begs to see Maddie – and they haven’t
seen each other since we moved.
Even after moving here, we found a circle of friends for Maddie
relatively quickly, thanks to a pre-formed mom’s group in my
neighborhood with kids all the same age, and several kind women
ready to welcome us to their group. By the time Maddie started
kindergarten, she had a solid circle of a half-dozen truly close
friends.
So did Cora. The only problem was that they were all of
Maddie’s friends.
I’m always looking for movies for
our movie nights that will be ok for the girls to watch – and
believe me, it’s a very small list. “Finding
Nemo” was shown to Maddie accidentally, and she stressed
about being lost or flushed down a toilet for several months.
“Beauty and the Beast” – the wolf scene is too
scary. “Little Mermaid” – the girls get through
it, but Ursula is so scary they don’t sleep for a couple
nights afterwards. You get the picture.
So a couple weeks ago I started running through movie musicals in
my head, and hit upon “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor
Dreamcoat” – an old Broadway musical recorded for
television starring Donny Osmond. The show was originally written
for children and tells the story of, um Joseph, from the Old
Testament. I know the show quite well, and knew it would be a hit
for the girls.
That, my friends, is an understatement.
The other night I was putting Cora to
sleep and we were lying there snuggling, chatting desultorily and
nuzzling together. Suddenly Cora sat up abruptly and said,
“Mommy, did you know the Beatles broke up?”
For those of you who don’t know us well, my husband and I are
rather strong fans of the Beatles. I think their music is
incredible, great artists, blah blah blah. My husband can recite
all the miniscule trivia that surrounds the band – who played
which licks on the ALTERNATE takes of “Love Me Do”,
what George was eating when he came up with “Blue Jay
Way”, who “Martha My Dear” is really about (the
dog, by the way). I know it kills him that the girls like songs
like Miley Cyrus’ “Party In The USA”, and
he’d threatened recently to take charge of their musical
education.
So I wasn’t completely surprised to hear Cora talking about
the Beatles. I grew increasingly uneasy, though, as the
conversation went on.
Cora, like other kids her age, has an
unreasonable (and, I’m sure, fleeting) love of cleaning. I
remember Maddie waving briefly at this stage in passing, but Cora
has parked her car in this particular stage of life and shows no
intention of moving on.
Which is, as you can imagine, fine by me.
A few years ago, my friend Abby told me
about a new fad in greeting cards – the ones that play music
when you open them. “These,” Abby swore to me,
“are golden. They keep the boys occupied for EVER (which, in
early childhood, means ten minutes at a stretch). You’ve got
to get some.”
She was, of course, right, and as soon as my girls heard one it was
love at first listen. Fast forward a few years, and today
we’re the proud owners of quite a collection. The girls have
never met a musical card they didn’t like, and we keep every
one given to one of us. I added them up, and we’ve got about
twenty-five of them. At five or six bucks a pop, it’s almost
a collection that needs extra theft insurance.
Clearly, I have an opinion about this
holiday.
I don’t understand what we’re celebrating, when my
daughter is sent home with a mandatory list of her entire class,
and orders to make one for each person, plus a fancy box for her
own “love letters”. Yes, this bugs me. Yes, I
understand why she had to give one to everyone in the class, and
not just her good friends. Yes, I think it’s important for
everyone to get the same amount. But here’s what I
don’t get:
Why do it in the first place?
There’s a little boy in
Maddie’s class – who shall remain nameless – who
spent most of the first of the year terrorizing Maddie. I know for
sure he was part of the group of boys who teased her so
traumatically most recently – and nearly got their asses
kicked by me because of it. And I know that his name has come up in
other stories Maddie’s told me of boys being mean, usually
with her ending in tears.
And I also know that he now has a thing for her.
Cora’s favorite place to eat out is
Panera, a quick-but-not-fast-food-food place with sandwiches and
salads. Cora loves the yogurt there, but mostly it’s the
“experience” of the dining: they’ve got these big
Starbucks-type lounge chairs covered in funky (but subdued) circle
print, and Cora loves to sit in them to eat. She makes a bee-line
for “her” circle chairs and can barely contain her
disappointment if they’re taken; fortunately for us, they
rarely are.
Now for the bad part: these circle chairs are side-by-side, with a
small occasional table between them. But because the chairs are on
rollers Cora is convinced they are meant to be repositioned, and
will insist they be turned and set so the tiny table can be used as
a lunch table, the two gigantic circle chairs crowding around it.
Now for the worse part: there are only two chairs, and there are
usually three people at Panera – me, my mom, and Cora. Which
means that someone (other than Cora) will be sitting at a different
table.
Believe me when I say that there is not
enough whiskey in all of Ireland to wash over yesterday's bad day.
Let's just say that I'm happy today is a late-start school day
because of the weather.
So happy.
With some regularity Maddie and I find
ourselves out for a doctor’s appointment or whatever and
Maddie will need a little extra one-on-one time with Mommy. I often
schedule appointments on Wednesdays and will take Maddie out of
school early, hit the appointment, and have half an hour or so
before going to Maddie’s ballet class. And just like
grown-ups with some time to kill and a bit of thirst to them,
Maddie and I head to Starbucks.
After four straight days of impassable
streets last week, the sun finally came out over the weekend and
turned our neighborhood into a community-sized slushee. And as
happy as I was to get in the car and go somewhere – anywhere,
it didn’t matter where – I still knew that one bad
thing would come with the thaw.
The return of school days.
In an attempt to prevent myself from going
all Medea on my kids, I invited a few friends over yesterday to
play Twister with us. For some crazy reason (ten degrees outside,
20 mph winds) only one person was stir-crazy enough – sorry,
I mean, oh, you know what I mean – to trek on over. Becca and
Paige walked nearly a mile to our house – and since Paige is
less than two years old, that’s quite an accomplishment
– and we had a fantastic morning together.
After playing an energetic round of Twister we sat down to enjoyed
our grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. As we ate, I pointed out
the cluster of birds just outside our kitchen door; they’d
eaten all the birdseed off our homemade pinecone birdfeeders and
with the weather so cold we’d taken to scattering seed across
our side patio. The birds seem to enjoy the easy pickings (pun
intended) and we have enjoyed seeing them come right to the door.
We spotted a couple male cardinals, which led to a discussion about
the difference between the male cardinal and the female cardinal,
which led to a discussion about the difference in coloring between
many male animals and their female counterparts.
Which led to the following conversation:
The bad news: no school again yesterday.
The good news: I avoided the Nutcracker. Narrowly.
Instead, we did our home-grown version of Twister, which involves
lots of running and physically demanding stunts like crab-walking
and skipping backwards. We baked. We painted. We baked. We read
books. We baked. And baked some more.
A winter storm moved through our area
Monday night, shutting down school for the day. Now, I’m not
a wimp and adore the outdoors, but our high temperature yesterday
was 16 degrees – with 45 mph winds on top of that. So we were
stuck indoors (though, to be fair, the girls begged to go out and
lasted nearly an hour in the back yard. With nary an adult by their
side, I might cowardly add.) for the day.
And what better way to pass the time than to put on a show?
Maddie and Cora decided to do, no surprise, the Nutcracker. Which
Cora and I had just danced start to finish the day before. But
yesterday the girls wanted to go full out, so we did costumes and
everything.
Hey, anything to take up more time.
Cora’s doing very well right now
with the potty thing. Occasionally she’ll need to get up in
the night to potty, and it’s a big production: first she has
to find her bedside flashlight (to keep away monsters), then move
back her big body pillow (aka monster barrier), then come and tell
Mommy and Daddy, then go pee.
And that, you know, takes time. So when she went through all that
last night, the time taken was precious, and Cora ended up not
quite making it to the potty, instead peeing on the bath mat right
in front of the toilet.
This is not such a big deal – her accidents are pretty
infrequent now – but Brian, the parent who got up with her,
said it was actually quite cute. Apparently, as the pee ran
disappointingly down her leg, Cora looked at the mat and said,
“Well, shoot a pickle.”
Which is one of my parentally-censored “cuss phrases” I
say around the kids.
So if you hear a three-year-old saying “Dag-nabit” or
“Jumpin’ Jehosaphat”, you’ll know she (and
the phrase) are mine.
Could be worse, right?
One of the things I teach is Pilates, an
exercise form that I teach one-on-one. I train primarily dancers
looking to advance in their career, or pre-professional dancers
trying to get ready for the professional world. Maddie and Cora
know some of these dancers, as I take the girls to see the ballet
shows when I can – partly just to check up on my dancers and
see how they’re progressing.
Sometimes, too, I have to take one or both of the girls with me
while I teach. It’s not ideal, especially with Cora; both
girls are inquisitive and want nothing more than to play around on
the expensive and dangerous equipment while I devote my full
concentration to my client. But sometimes childcare just
doesn’t work out perfectly and so they come along.
Maddie’s been going through a rough
patch recently – in some ways, over the past week or so; and
in some ways, over the past few months or so. We’ve been
working through it together, and I can tell you, it hasn’t
been easy – almost too hard for me to even talk about as we
were in the throes.
She’s been wrestling with some real demons – her
worries and fears; her introvertedness being challenged at every
turn in school – and I’ve ached to see my child go
through all this. But for the past couple of days I’ve seen
something that makes me think she’s turned a corner –
I’ve seen her smile.
So I posted a couple days ago that Cora
had given her dollhouse to a little girl who’d been living on
the streets, then in a shelter, and had just recently moved into
her first apartment. Cora was thrilled to do so, and the case
worker passing it on assured Cora that the little girl would be
thrilled to have it – at two years old, the girl would be
getting her first toy.
Then yesterday I got an email from the caseworker. She’d
received a letter from the little girl’s mommy and wanted to
pass it on to us. It said, “Thanks for thinking of my
daughter for that dollhouse. She just loves it. Thanks. I just wish
I could tell the little girl who gave it to my Cookie how much it
means to her. I shouldn’t have shown it to her in the evening
– I couldn’t get her to go to bed! Thanks. And I
thought you might like to see some pictures.”
I mentioned recently that Cora’s
quite taken with her new game, Make-Up Stand, where she pretends to
be a makeup artist and will “do” your make-up for you
with real brushes and pretend powders.
I’ve grown tired of playing the game eight (8!) times a day:
the game becomes more elaborate each time, and now has to start
with me at “home” getting my purse and telling my mom
I’m going to get make-up, then “shopping” along
the walls, spying the store, unlocking it with the Sparkle Key, and
asking Cora, who has her back to me, “Excuse me – can
you please do my make-up for me?” at which point she spins
around on her stool with a smile and says, “Sure,
honey.”
And then we start all the make-up stuff.
Cora and I have recently started spending
some time at our local shelter doing storytime with toddlers and
preschoolers, and it’s certainly made Cora aware of the
bigger picture around us. When we took a peek into the new
“family” rooms in December, we saw the single room with
two sets of bunkbeds, a tiny closet, and one small shower bathroom
for a whole family. Cora thought it really cool – until she
found out it was for the WHOLE FAMILY.
Her eyes have been opened, and I know that she sees things
differently now. I mentioned last week’s upcoming trip back
to the shelter for another story time in a casual way, then changed
the subject and chatted, asking what Cora would like for lunch. She
was silent, and I asked lightly, “What are you
thinking?” and she replied, “About all the people at
the Inn who don’t get lunch when they don’t have a
home.”
Wednesday morning Cora and I went to the
grocery store, taking a quick potty break before heading out. After
arriving home, I was putting groceries away when I heard from the
downstairs bathroom, “Mommy, come look at this.”
I ran in, and Cora had not quite made it onto the potty. I
reassured her, got her cleaned up, and we went on with our day.
Maddie’s going through a tough time
right now – a sort of emotional growing pain, if you will.
And it’s been hard for me to stand back and let it happen,
when my instinct is to rush in and fix things. I know, though, that
this is something she has to work through on her own – some
lessons, I know well, can only be learned the hard way.
“Well, hell-O there!” the
Make-Up Lady says as I step through the door. “Are you
interested in trying some fresh make-up looks today? Free
application?”
No, I’m not at the department store. I’m at home,
walking into my house from dropping Maddie off at school, and Cora
(aka the Make-up Lady) has apparently opened for business again
today.
Yesterday was a school and work holiday in
our family, and Brian and I wanted to do something fun for the
girls. Maddie had been asking about going to see a movie for a
while, and we finally gave in and took the girls to a movie
theatre.
And yes, it’s true, neither girl had ever been to see a movie
before. I know, we practically raise them Amish.
We selected Yogi Bear for their big screen debut; Tangled had been
reported (by friends who know the girls well) as being too scary,
and I couldn’t find a single witch or scary wolf in the Yogi
commercials. We told the girls right before we headed out, and let
them dress “fancy” – which means both were
wearing their “rock star” outfits. Well, almost the
full outfits: I made Cora take off her sequined cape and her crown,
and Maddie had to remove her black sequined bowler hat. Otherwise,
though, they were sparkled out and we had a couple Liberaces
walking in to the theatre.
I realized I needed to treat them like aliens visiting for the
first time, and tried to explain everything in detail.
Yesterday morning I left my snug, warm
house to walk Maddie to school. The temperature outside was 20
degrees. I know it’s colder elsewhere, like Mount Everest,
but here in Texas that’s chilly. I was ready to shave a few
years off the life left in this planet and burn some fossil fuels
to drive Maddie to school in a nice warm car, but that kid loves
the near-mile walk and insisted we not drive so we bundled up and
headed out.
Anyway, I left a quiet house – Cora was still upstairs asleep
and my mom was dozing in her bed. When I got home, as I stripped
off my big down coat Cora came running down the stairs in a
gymnastics leotard – and nothing else. “Mommy!”
she said excitedly, as my mom followed blearily behind her.
“We’re going to Hawaii! Do you want to come with
us?”
Um, yes?
It seems both my girls are hitting
milestones these days: Cora with the potty training, and Maddie
– Maddie’s finally tying her own shoes. She’s
been working on it for a while, with increased success, but we can
finally call it. Maddie can do the whole thing – start to
finish – on her own on a regular basis.
I have this friend who works for an
excellent world-wide Christian relief agency. His title – I
kid you not – is Director of Peacebuilding. As in, his job
description reads “bring about world peace.” He lives
in India with his wife, a priest of a small Anglican church there.
Both are originally from Canada, and this is how they are living
out their callings –as global citizens making a difference.
And, by the way, raising their two blond-haired, blue-eyed children
there as well.
The other day, my friend Matt’s son wanted to know the names
of the wealthiest people. They counted down the Forbes Top 15,
noting those wealthy (like Buffet & Gates) who are giving away
their fortunes. They got to #10 before his son asked: "So what
number are we?"
Now, while my friends may live in relative luxury in India –
at least compared to many of the slums they see –
there’s no way by any stretch of the imagination you could
even call them upper-middle-class (sorry guys). But their kids look
around and see what’s possible – in a poverty way
– and consider themselves rich. As, indeed, they are. These
children have even been quoted as saying (at ages 4 and 6)
“We have so many toys and books. We don’t need any
more.”
I can guarantee you that those words have never come out of my
girls’ mouths.
Maddie’s school appoints a king or
queen every week – someone in her class who gets to spend the
week in the spotlight. The royal personage is the permanent line
leader, gets to be calendar helper, wears a crown all week, and
talks all about him or herself every day.
Need I tell you that Maddie has coveted this spot all year
long?
That’s right, folks, we are
officially a diaperless household. Well, at least we will be when
I’ve freecycled all the leftover diapers we’ve got
lying around. But officially there is not a single person under
this roof who uses diapers.
Yeah, we’re awesome.
So I learned yesterday through a very
circuitous but very accurate channel that Maddie has been the
subject of some teasing at school, for something very minor over
which she has absolutely no control. She has told me nothing, so I
must act as if I don’t know or she will feel like her
confidante has betrayed her, but I have been told that it has hurt
her rather deeply, and has occurred more than once.
There are two reasons I have not gone over to the offenders’
houses and kicked the shit out of them right now:
First, I don’t know who they are.
Second, though I would easily dominate any jail to which I was sent
by virtue of my natural charm and organization skills, my kids need
me. My husband would suck at picking out prom dresses.
Cora is now three and a half years old.
She has been pooping exclusively in the potty for about eight
months now. She is completely capable of peeing in the potty
– she clearly has the brains to understand it since she is,
as I told you yesterday, smarter than me.
She’s just lazy.
Last week, the four of us were sitting
around the dinner table while Maddie regaled us with a story about
a recent discussion with her friend Elise. Apparently Elise had
seen something and told Maddie all about it in front of
Elise’s mother, who then quickly stepped in and said,
“That’s not true. I know you think you saw it, but
it’s not true.” Maddie was enjoying leaving that part
out, and I reminded her that Elise had been told that her tale was
not true.
Maddie looked at me and said, “Elise told her mother she
agreed with her, but she doesn’t really. She knows more than
her mother does here.”
Since Sunday was the grand finale to our
two-week family “staycation”, in which Brian and Maddie
were both home the whole time, we agreed to give the girls some
quality one-on-one time with our respective number one fans. In
other words, Maddie had a huge stretch of time with Mommy while
Cora got Daddy all to herself.
We laid out the plan for the girls and threw wide the gates:
we’d go anywhere in the city, do anything they wanted. I
honestly thought Maddie would come up with a list similar to this:
lunch out; shoe shopping; go get her first manicure; that sort of
thing. I was wrong.
No one’s been sick –
I’ve just been hugely enjoying some family time over the past
week. Sorry.
But life’s about to kick back into regular gear, and I have
to say I’m not thrilled about it.
Is it really so bad if we keep our kids home and don’t send
them to school? I mean, really? I mean, like, go to jail bad?
Really?
I’ve always sworn that we will not
be the kind of parents who give in to our children’s every
whim; who fly into a panic when one little thing is imperfect in a
daughter’s life; who will run out in the middle of the night
on Christmas eve for that one last toy.
I was wrong.
I love books. I love reading them over and
over again, and treasure the books in my possession like best
friends to keep with me for life. I wear out my library card, and
rarely buy a book I haven’t already read at least once: I
usually check out books I’m interested in, give them a read,
and if one sticks with me I’ll write it down to buy at a used
bookstore at some point. I love books.
Maddie and Cora are shaping up to be the same way, not that they
have much choice. Pretty much all of their grandparents love
reading as well, and one-on-one reading time is built into our
daily schedule at least twice a day, usually more. Books are what
we usually give for birthdays or other big occasions, both to each
other and to friends. What I’m trying to say is, this is a
big book household. I’m a very generous lender, but the books
we choose to own become somewhat precious to us, both for their own
sake and for the memories attached to them of the giver or
situation in which they are received.
I think it’s no secret that my girls
do love themselves and audience, and last year when they learned
about the tradition of door-to-door caroling they were all over it.
We laid plans with like-minded friends which went awry, but I
should not have been surprised when Maddie and her friend Elise
both brought it up this year – “We’re going
caroling this year, right?”
Yesterday was a balmy December day in Texas, hovering in the
mid-seventies and forcing me into a short-sleeved shirt.
Nonetheless, at 5 p.m. it was Music Time and we saddled up our
sleigh – er, wagon – and hit the road. Listen, if you
had seen my girls coming down the street you would’ve pulled
over and died of cuteness. There they were in red outfits, santa
hats on, jingle bells tied around them, singing lustily as they
warmed up their repertoire. I know it’s not just because
I’m their mom – they were extraordinarily adorable.
Sunday was a big day for us: church,
decorating our Christmas tree, hosting a small gathering at our
house - and oh yes, going to see Santa. The girls practiced what
they were going to say several times in the days leading up to it,
and I could see both were a bit nervous – not of meeting the
guy himself, I’m afraid, but of messing up their order.
Friday afternoon Maddie and Cora were
putting on yet another show in our living room when the inevitable
happened – bickering, squabbling, fighting over everything.
Who got to sing first, who got to carry the fan, you name it, they
fought over it. In desperation, I came in with a severe punishment.
“That’s IT! I’m tired of you two fighting like
this every time you do a show. As a consequence, you will not be
allowed to do ANY shows for . . .” wait for it –
“ONE DAY.”
The weeping. The wailing. The gnashing of teeth. The girls
weren’t sure how they’d get through the next day.
Today’s the last day of school
before our two-week winter break, and to say this house is excited
would be like saying Texans are mildly proud of their state. Cora
and Maddie both have been counting down the days, and with an event
almost every day this week, either at school or at home, it’s
already felt a bit like vacation.
I’m a bit sad about how much Maddie’s looking forward
to Christmas break; I deeply loved school when I was a child
(freak, I know) and wish Maddie was as enamoured of it as I used to
be. At the same time, I have to confess that I’m chomping at
the bit to have my child back all to myself, and I’m looking
forward to our two-week “staycation” almost as much as
she is.
Of course, check in with me in two weeks when I’ve been
cruise director for two impatient, over-sugared kids for several
days, and I might have changed my tune.
Every year it seems we run into a problem
with Christmas and the girls’ wish lists. Last year, Maddie
was all over asking Santa to bring her a ballet barre – until
she saw a pretty necklace in a jewelry store, and that was all she
could think of.
This year, the troublemaker might be Cora.
At the risk of tempting fate, I'm calling
it - Cora's feeling better.
Girlie went to bed at 6 p.m. yesterday near-catatonic, after
sleeping almost constantly since 2 p.m. She woke up briefly a
couple times but was out for good at 4 a.m., not waking up until
7:30.
And did she wake up.
After fooling me with a relatively good
day on Sunday, Cora's relapsed - as in vomiting again. The doctor
finally gave her an anti-nausea drug and she's now able to keep
down - wait for it - apple juice.
I think the drug's also a narcotic because she's been asleep
almost the whole time since she took it. Hmm, I can think of future
uses for these pills . . .
Praying Tuesday will be better.
Maddie gradually got better last week,
attending school for a half day on Thursday and all day Friday. My
stomach bug morphed into a wicked sore throat, which has turned out
to be a combination of a tonsil/sinus/ear infection and some virus
called the Adenovirus. So my health has been limping along, and I
finally began to feel a bit better yesterday.
But Friday morning, Cora came down with a fever.
Yep.
Thanks for the emails checking in - we're
still alive.
Barely.
Let's just say it's been a hard week, and I'll see you on
Monday.
Yep, clearly I have to hang in there a few
more days.
Maddie’s slightly better, because when the medicine kicks in
she’s got energy enough to go manically around the house. She
put on a full-length ballet – and wrote a song to go with it
– yesterday; decorated a tree in multi-medium art forms; and
mopped the floor. Yep, mopped the floor. Hey, she asked to do it.
In between her moments of imitating a whirling dervish, though, she
was catatonic on the couch, huddled underneath a down comforter and
shivering uncontrollably. She actually fell asleep under the
blanket, even her head buried, with just as mall breathing airway
punched in with my fist. We watched Sesame Street, and Between the
Lions, and more Sesame Street. Good times.
And it’s only Tuesday.
Late Thursday night I came down with a
swift stomach bug, from which I’m not yet fully recovered.
Saturday morning, Maddie began looking glassy-eyed, until that
afternoon when she was complaining about head pain, throat pain,
ear pain, and chills. A quick trip to the doctor confirmed that it
is viral, and we may be in it for a few days.
Maddie went through moments of feeling better on Sunday –
running around putting on shows, sculpting people out of Play-doh,
making cards for her teacher. Then she’d hit that wall and
collapse back on the couch. So I’m hoping she’s going
to be better still today, but who knows.
We’ve got a few Corduroy books in
our house – the original plus Corduroy Finds a Pocket, and
Corduroy Lost and Found. The girls both love them all and we will
periodically dig them back out and put them in high rotation, as
has happened recently. Cora, especially, is fond of them right now
and has been talking about Corduroy and what she’d do if she
could play with him.
Which is why my mom went into her room yesterday morning and came
out with a stuffed bear of her own (long story) wearing red
corduroy overalls. “This is my Corduroy, Cora, do you want to
play with him?”
Um, is Elmo red?
Maddie’s worrying has gotten worse,
and it has us, well, worried. Right now, several weeks spent on
Fire Safety combined with nearly daily fire drills has gotten
Maddie rather freaked out about the possibility of fire, both at
school and at home, to the point that she worries when she hears
the house heater come on, and frets the entire day if we’ve
got a fire in the fireplace.
I was talking about this recently with someone I know who is a
children’s therapist, and she asked me what we do in these
situations. “Well, Maddie will usually ask question after
question about the situation – how do you start a fire in the
fireplace? How do you know it will stay in the fireplace? What
happens if it doesn’t stay in the fireplace? How can you be
sure? – and we try to answer each one, calmly dissipate her
fears, and de-mystify the worry by breaking it down
logically,” I said a bit smugly.
Apparently, that was the wrong answer.
While driving in the car yesterday, we
were playing Scavenger Hunt – think I Spy with a list of
items to find. Maddie stumped us with a request for a ladder, and
after a few minutes of no luck she wanted to just ignore it and
move on.
“No,” I said, “Let’s not forget it, but we
can add more items to the list while we still try to find the
ladder as well.”
So I read about this project a mom came up
with for her kids – the “Good Deeds Jar” –
where the kids worked at a list of good deeds to show Santa how
great they are. You know I love a project that keeps my girls
focused on the real meaning of Christmas, so I played around with
the original idea and have come up with the Kindness Jar.
Hey everyone - have a great and happy
holiday weekend, and safe travels to all! See you next week -
Sunday after church we stopped at the
grocery store to get donuts, a treat in which we indulge about once
a month. Believe it or not, our grocery store has really good
donuts, and we’ve decided we prefer that site to a donut
store. But walking in and out of a grocery store during post-church
hours will definitely take more time than a quick stop to a donut
store, so it was already after noon when we got the girls strapped
back into their car seats.
“By the way,” I said nonchalantly, “what time
does the Cowboy game start?”
“It actually started a few minutes ago,” Brian said as
he gritted his teeth trying to be patient.
From the back seat we heard, “WHAT??? The Cowboy game is on?
I’ve got to get home and get into my jersey!”
Sunday started as an ordinary day: a few
whining fits, scurrying to get to church, and so on. We had a quiet
lunch afterwards as we watched the Cowboys fight their way to
victory, and the girls even headed relatively uncomplainingly
towards their quiet times. Afterwards Maddie and I went grocery
shopping while Cora and Daddy played in the back yard.
And then came the question which redefined the rest of our day.
“Mommy, where’s my Silky?”
Yesterday was Maddie’s Thanksgiving
Feast at school, and family members were invited to come eat their
holiday lunch with the kids. The meal was most illuminating, and I
learned a lot.
For starters, eating with a plastic spork is just about impossible.
The shallow tines on it will barely spear a piece of turkey because
they’re only about an eighth of an inch long, and the spoon
part is less than perfect since some of the food just slides off
the tines. I get that it’s a two-fer thing: two utensils for
the price of one. I just hope I don’t have to use one again
any time soon.
Tuesday morning Cora was talking excitedly
about her upcoming ballet class – Tuesday is ballet day for
Cora. “I’m going to take the purple class today,
instead!” she announced.
For those of you who don’t know (and why should you), the
ballet classes are organized by color: the 3-year-old class wears
pink leotards, 4-year-olds wear lilac, 5-year-olds wear light blue,
and so on. Cora, obviously, is in the pink class.
“Baby, actually, you are in the pink class still –
you’ll be in purple next year. Purple is for 4-year-olds, and
you’re still 3,” I said carefully.
Cora looked at me pityingly. “But Mommy, Savannah Jane is in
my class and she’s four years old (true story, since SJ
turned four last month) and I’m better than her (true story
also). So if I can keep up with a four-year-old, I can be in the
four-year-old class.
How do you argue with that?
Yesterday I picked Maddie and her friend
Elise up after school, and due to the weather we rode in the car
rather than walking. After concentrating on maneuvering through
kindergarten traffic and getting safely out of the school zone, I
tuned into a conversation between Maddie and Elise that was already
in progress. Apparently they were discussing the creation of our
solar system, and I started listening right around the following:
Maddie: “But, Elise, if God didn’t create the Earth
then the moon wouldn’t exist because there would be no way
for it to come into being.”
Cora’s always been firmly attached
to me – head buried in my hair, hands locked around my neck,
hiney nestled into my crossed legs, whatever – and it’s
been a difficult trait for me to live with sometimes. Her
separation anxiety seemed to last an incredibly long time, even
past her third birthday, and I’d despaired of ever cracking
it.
Then I went and did a show, and Daddy got extra time at night with
the girls.
Wednesday morning Maddie came downstairs
for school with a yellow post-it note stuck to her shirt. Upon
closer examination, I saw that the note said – in
Maddie’s handwriting – “Madeleine Milner
214-555-1212”.
“Maddie, why are you wearing a note stuck to your chest with
your name and phone number on it?” I asked her. My mind, of
course, was playing through all the worst-case scenarios: she heard
a kid was bringing a gun to school and she wanted her body to be
identified later. A strange man followed her into the restroom
yesterday and asked her to write down her info on a piece of paper.
You know, the sort of things you all think about.
The following was a message left on my
cell phone yesterday by a friend:
“Hey, Jen, it’s me. I thought you’d want to know
that I was out running errands and happened to drive by the school,
and I looked at the clock and what do you know! It was recess time
for our girls! So I looked up at the playground and there they
were, arms flung out and heads thrown back, running across the
playground with abandon. They were clearly flying and having a
terrific time. Just thought you’d want to know.”
I cannot tell you how much I love messages like that. Stolen
sneak-peeks into Maddie’s life give me that bit of
reassurance –that she is still a nice person and not running
around the playground beating kids up. That she has friends, and is
not lonely and miserable.
That she does indeed thrive without me.
I was humming happily for the rest of the afternoon, snuggling up
to that picture in my mind like it was a purring cat on a rainy
day.
Thanks, my friend!
Maddie has always been a worrier, and when
she gets stuck on something it’s almost impossible to get her
out of it before she’s good and ready. About two weeks ago,
Maddie had a scary dream in which I left her and didn’t come
back, ignoring her begging to “Come back, Mama!” as I
drove away on my motorcycle (!). Ever since then, Maddie’s
been stuck to me like glue. She cries when I leave at night –
big sobbing tears, running-in-the-rain-after-me (literally) tears,
the kind that break your heart tears. When I visit her class in
school to help out, I have to pry her off me when I leave.
This has moved into other areas of her life, to the point that
Maddie is now spectacularly unable to handle emotional
disappointments. Can’t go to a friend’s house after
school? Meltdown. Can’t choose which video to watch with
Cora? Meltdown. Lose a book for bedtime? Meltdown of epic
proportions.
Saturday, I’d had enough.
The past couple of weeks have been crazy
for me, doing the mommy thing all day and rehearsing a show late at
night. Cora’s had to go to her share of rehearsals, but
mostly the show hasn’t had a direct impact on family time.
Indirectly, though, is another story.
With every minute of nap times taken up with learning lines and
trying to stay afloat, my days have become infinitely less
productive. And with my oil burning far past midnight, my days have
become infinitely more cranky and less patient. So I’ve spent
the last two weeks coasting on the household front – four
loads of laundry FINALLY done, but sitting for over a week in my
bedroom waiting to be folded and put away. Brian uncomplainingly
went to the pile every morning and plucked a fresh pair of socks,
while I tried desperately to find a shirt that wasn’t too
wrinkled. Our supply of frozen meals I’d stocked up has
dwindled to nil, and don’t get me started on the state of the
house: books everywhere, Barbie shoes strewn all over the floor,
table surfaces buried under papers and detritus.
It is not, of course, the end of the world when your house becomes
snowed under. I work hard on my household partly so that I can
coast when necessary. But by the end of this weekend I
couldn’t stand it any more, which is why I was so grateful
for Sunday – my first day off in weeks.
Cora's rash is finally dying down, now
that she's been off the amoxicillan since Monday evening.
On the other hand, she only had six days of medication for her
strep, which is notoriously stubborn. So I called the doctor and,
when I pointed out the time frame, won a prescription for another
antibiotic, which Cora started Thursday.
Which was apparently a good thing, since Thursday evening she began
complaining that her throat hurt. Then Thursday night it took her
three hours to get to sleep because she said her ear hurt.
The antibiotic should knock out an ear infection too, right?
Seriously, how much longer will this kid be half-healthy? My heart
aches for her.
Cora's sleepless night Monday night was
explained Tuesday morning, when she woke up with a violent rash
over every inch of her body.
I am a bad Mommy.
Cora has had amoxicillan once before, a year or so ago; she got a
mild rash from it, and the doctor declared it (cleverly enough) an
Amoxicillan Rash. Turns out everyone can get it, and most people
get it every tenth time or so that they take amoxicillan. Since
Cora only had it once, she risked the rash again to try to knock
out Cora's strep.
Bad move.
This rash was in her ears, between her toes, you name it, she was
covered there. Apparently the zyrtec I'd been giving her for
allergies had slowed the onset of the reaction but when it came it
was a doozy. So now that it's happened twice, the doctor is
officially nixing the penicillan family for Cora. The good news is
that it's not a true allergy - just a sensitivity - so if she
accidentally has some she won't die. The bad news is that my kid
didn't look so good for a while, and people ran screaming from her
at open gym.
I told a friend of mine that I'd jokingly said to a mom I didn't
know, "I'm assuming your kid has had the chicken pox vaccine." It
cleared the room, and my friend I suggested I take Cora to, say,
Six Flags and enjoy her newfound ability to move us to the head of
any line.
I am a bad Mommy.
Well, the nights aren't getting any
better.
After a nice, peaceful night of no wakings on Halloween I thought
we'd licked Maddie's evening worries. But last night she was up a
record FIVE times, and Cora even caught the worry bug and got up
four times herself with nightmares. This, of course, after I got to
bed around 12:30.
Mommy is cranky. Do not get in mommy's way.
Friday night, Maddie had a bad dream.
Saturday morning, she told me she didn’t want me to leave for
work. Apparently, in her dream I left and didn’t come back,
and she was afraid her dream would come true. Getting myself
disentangled from her was a bit difficult and she was crying
quietly when I left.
The rest of the day seemed to go just fine, but then nighttime
came. As soon as we made our way towards the bed, Maddie started
tensing up and worrying. She spent the entire reading time stuck to
my side like a leech, saying she was worried her dream would come
back. I snuggled for a long time and finally left. Ten minutes
later, she began calling for me. Mom went in instead, and
eventually came downstairs saying, “Yeah, you’re going
to have to go in. She’s crying, she’s so
worried.”
As I was posting yesterday (which was
actually late Tuesday night) I realized as I re-read my blog that
it could have been worse – the girls could have been sick
instead of just up a lot. I toyed briefly with deleting the post,
just so I wouldn’t upset the capricious gods of Malicious
Sleep-Deprivation.
Cue up Tuesday night’s marathon.
Maddie slept straight through the night – no worries –
but Cora more than made up for it. She was up EVERY HALF HOUR,
fretting and tossing and whimpering. When I went in (alternating
with Brian) she’d complain that her throat hurt.
“Huh,” I thought. “I’d think it’s
strep except she’s not throwing up.”
And then 5 a.m. came.
Yes, Cora began throwing up. Yes, I took her to the doctor. Yes,
she has strep.
I’ve actually come to relish the strep diagnosis –
it’s an easy, clearly definable fix, and I know that within
twelve or so hours my child will feel significantly better. I
simply have to survive the first few hours of begging for popsicles
and water, and having them thrown up repeatedly.
Now, though, she’s on antibiotics, so this next night must be
better.
Right?
Monday night I got home from rehearsal and
climbed into bed just past midnight. Wide awake with song lyrics
and dance steps running through my head, I didn’t fall asleep
until 1 a.m.
1:05 a.m., Cora woke up crying. I nudged Brian, who reluctantly
stirred and went in for a cuddle. Crawling back into bed a few
minutes later, he hissed, “That’s the third time
tonight I’ve had to go in to her.”
Uh-oh.
I started rehearsals yesterday for a show
I’m doing in a couple weeks. I haven’t done one (like,
a real one) for years and didn’t go looking for this one;
I’d sort of told myself I wouldn’t be seeking anything
like this until both girls were in school full-time. But this came
up, and it’s fast and easy, and most importantly, the theatre
is kid-friendly. The director has kids of his own, and when he
expressed a desire to do some daytime rehearsals I’d pointed
out I have Cora. “Bring her along!” he said.
Ok.
Friday evening Maddie’s school had a
fall festival, and we threw caution to the wind and went. They had
a chili cook-off, copious desserts, face painting, bounce houses, a
small train ride – I’m telling you, it was big time.
And since Maddie was deliriously happy running around with all her
school mates and the next day was a Saturday, we decided to let the
girls blow a bit past their bedtimes and stay up late.
Now, when I say “stay up late”, everything’s
relative: their usual bedtime is 6:30 p.m. – and even then, I
have to wake them both at 6:30 a.m. to get them up for the day.
We’ve missed family birthday celebrations and free tickets to
shows because of our adherence to this bedtime. But we were trying
an experiment – we’ve been derided by friends and
family as too strict on the bedtime, and thought it was a safe
place to see what would happen. So we didn’t start walking
home until 7:15, and the girls weren’t dressed and in bed
until 7:45.
Let’s just say we won’t be doing that again.
Yesterday afternoon Cora and I were
heading to school to pick Maddie up. Cora was walking, and I was
pulling a wagon loaded with water bottles, two scooters, and two
helmets. After half a block Cora said, “Mommy, I want to ride
in the wagon.”
Cora climbed in, crammed into an uncomfortable corner because of
all the gear. She took a few sips of her water, then said,
“Mommy, when I said ‘ride in the wagon’, what I
meant was ‘get my water’.” And then she climbed
back out.
Cora has an overwhelming need to win (don’t know where she
gets that) and has a terrible time admitting she’s wrong
(ditto). This has led her to her newest strategy, entitled
“What I Meant Was . . .”
We went to our duck pond last night after
dinner, hanging out and playing a bit with the girls’ friends
Paige and Becca. I spied our friend the heron over on the other
side, and we ambled over with some stale bread. The girls delighted
in throwing the bread to the ducks who came begging, and we were
careful to stand near the heron but not right in front of him,
being as nonthreatening as possible.
My poor Maddie is sick with an ear
infection. Up Sunday night complaining, she's been miserable ever
since. We hit the doctor Monday morning and, though she tried hard
to go back to school afterwards, I called and audible and turned
her around at the admission desk; she was so tired and in pain she
was weeping the whole time.
This is a doozy - every time the Motrin wears off a fairly decent
fever comes back up. Poor kiddo is clinging to me and miserable,
and I'm throwing video after video at her trying to get her mind
off the pain. We'll see how she wakes up today - I'm praying the
antibiotics have taken effect overnight.
Here's hoping she's up and around soon.
When Maddie started kindergarten, she
already knew a half-dozen kids in her school from our neighborhood
playgroup. She walked into school that first day part of a gang,
and knew that at recess she’d meet up with her friends and
have playmates ready-made, no awkward first-meeting stuff to deal
with. And when the kids had to go into the school by themselves for
the first time, with her posse all held hands to give each other
moral support, a string of kindergarteners stronger than their
individual parts.
I’ve got my own posse too – all the moms who stand
outside and anxiously watch their babies walk into school, away
from them. And I have to tell you, I don’t know what
I’d do without my homies.
Last night, Cora and I were cuddling
together in her bed at night-night time. Cora’s a very
physical person, and we were lying snuggled up facing each other,
so close our noses were touching. She loves being mashed into me,
and I could see contentment etched on her features.
“Oh, Mommy,” Cora sighed, breathing out slowly.
“What is it, baby?” I asked back, smiling lovingly.
Cora took my face in both her hands and gazed into my eyes.
“You’re on my pillow.”
Now that Maddie’s on the educational
grid, so to speak, we’re diving deep into the bureaucracy of
the public school system. Formal notes for sick days, homework
folders completed just so, weekly folders signed and returned
immediately, and so on.
And then, of course, there was Maddie’s first report
card.
Maddie had Monday off of school – to
the rest of the country it might have been Columbus Day, but here
in Texas it was state fair day. We have the coolest, biggest state
fair in the country (and I’m not being a sarcastic New Yorker
here, I really love it) and every school district gives students a
day off and a free ticket to go.
I knew Monday would be jam-packed, but I wanted to go to the fair
before it closes this weekend. And Maddie’s been handling
school so well, and is so tired, that I threw caution to the wind
and took Tuesday off to go instead, giving Maddie a four-day
weekend.
I’ve written a couple times about
Cora’s babysitting gig – she “helps” take
care of Paige, an 18-month-old toddler, occasionally as
Paige’s mom Allison helps me by taking care of Cora. Cora has
babysat Paige twice and has taken Paige on as her own personal
mission. Every time we walk to school drop-off or pick-up, Cora
wonders aloud if Paige will be there, or if she’ll be left at
home while her big sister Becca is dropped at school alone.
If Paige is at school, Cora will feed the child Cheerios one at a
time. Cora will find Paige’s pacifier. Or blankie. Or water
bottle. Or whatever Paige may (or may not) want. If Paige starts
wandering off, Cora will say, “Paige,” in a half
exasperated, half amused tone. And then she’ll chase after
her
Last Friday afternoon the weather was
gorgeous here and I wanted to figure out a way to enjoy the day
with Maddie after she got out of school. By Friday my child is a
walking zombie, so going to the park was absolutely no use at all.
But I finally came up with something.
Cora and I walk to pick up Maddie every afternoon, Cora riding in
her wagon because the walk’s just a smidge too far for her.
That afternoon, we showed up at the school with a wagon laden with
goodies: our big picnic blanket, a bag of Clementine oranges, a box
of Annie’s bunny mix, ice water, stale bread, and a huge
stack of books. We walked to the duck pond near our house and
proceeded to have the best. Afternoon. Ever.
Here’s the most recent:
Maddie: (very hot, and dripping wet) “Whew! I’ve got
the sweats!”
Cora: (at the park, running on the sidewalk) “Mommy look
– my heels kick my hiney when I run! Move, hiney,
move!”
I love my job.
6 a.m. I get up. Unwillingly. I get ready
for the day, make a grocery list, pack Maddie’s bag, prep
their breakfasts, and go to wake up the girls.
6:30 a.m. I start the wake-up process. This takes half an hour,
from “I’m not ready to wake up!” to coming down
for breakfast. Maddie gets out of bed only with the promise of some
maple sugar for her oatmeal.
7 a.m. I finish cooking the oatmeal and dish it up to two
unenthusiastic girls. They eat, we do hair, wrestle on shoes, and
head out the door.
7:45 a.m. I drop Maddie off at school and stay until the bell rings
– as I’ve promised Maddie I will do. Even though
she’s inside and would never know.
8 a.m. Cora and I read Puss In Boots twice and play four
rounds of Puppy Bingo. Cora wins every time.
Cora and I went shopping on Friday,
looking for some basics for Maddie to fill out the holes in her
winter (and here in Texas I use that term loosely) wardrobe.
Unfortunately for Cora, Maddie’s hand-me-downs are copious
and cute, so Cora rarely gets to pick out many of her own clothes.
I was feeling generous (and was at the outlet mall. With a coupon.)
and told Cora she could pick out ONE outfit for herself.
Ecstatic, Cora began studiously perusing the store. Flipping
through racks and rounders of dresses and pants and skirts and
sweaters, Cora turned around and spied –
Blue sparkly leggings.
Cora gasped. A love affair was born.
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